That was a story from a long, long time ago.
She didn’t know why she had entered this world, but the first thing she saw was the suffering of the people in Yangcheng, ravaged by a plague. Corpses littered the streets, and the air was thick with the stench of decay and despair.
Without a second thought, her first instinct was to use her knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine to save as many lives as possible.
But she was no deity. No matter how hard she tried, people still died before her eyes.
On a gloomy, rainy day, she stood at the edge of a crowd, watching hunched-over parents cremate their young child who had succumbed to illness. A deep sense of helpless sorrow welled up inside her.
A sharp jingling sound pierced the heavy air.
"Why are you crying?"
She looked up and saw a figure perched on a tree.
It was a boy from a foreign land—his hair as white as a waterfall, his skin pale, his sharp brows framing ink-black eyes. Silver rings dangled from his ears, and he wore the purple attire of Miaojiang, with copper bells and a medicine pouch swaying at his waist.
She had no idea how long he had been silently observing her. Now, he sat with his arms crossed, legs swinging idly in the air, and grinned. "Those people mean nothing to you. Dead or alive, why bother crying over them?"
Under the gray sky, he was the only vivid splash of color in the world.
Later, for reasons unknown, he began following her openly after initially watching her from the shadows.
He watched as she treated the sick, as she grieved for strangers, and as she stubbornly pushed forward—even when exhausted, staying up late under the dim light of an oil lamp, brewing medicine until her fingers burned red from the steam.
He couldn’t understand why anyone would care so deeply about the lives of others. It made him curious—just how foolish could this woman be?
In times of chaos, order was nothing but a joke.
One day, while she was gathering herbs in the mountains, she had the misfortune of encountering bandits. Cornered and desperate, she watched as these men were gruesomely devoured by venomous insects, reduced to nothing but piles of bones.
The world’s fear of the Miaojiang people was not unfounded.
Amid the lingering stench of blood, the boy made his grand entrance, a smile on his lips and excitement gleaming in his eyes.
This woman from the Central Plains had always been calm and composed, foolishly kind to a fault—so unlike anyone else.
But humans were inherently selfish. How could she be any different?
He wanted to see her horrified expression, to hear her scream in terror, to watch her shrink away from him in fear like all the others.
Only then would it prove his belief—that she was no exception.
Her face had indeed paled, her frail frame trembling in the mountain wind.
Perhaps it was her first time witnessing such a scene. She stood frozen as he approached, waiting for her inevitable breakdown.
But instead of screaming, she covered her mouth, turned aside, and retched. Then, shaking uncontrollably, she stammered:
"Let’s... bury these bones together."
The boy paused mid-step, tilting his head in confusion.
She added, "If others find out you killed them, the authorities will come after you."
He blinked, dumbfounded, before finally asking in a clear voice, "Are you an idiot?"
In the end, they didn’t bury the bones. With a snap of his fingers, the piles of white skeletons vanished into purple smoke, leaving no trace of "evidence" behind.
For reasons even he couldn’t explain, the boy eventually lent his aid. Together, they developed a cure for the plague, and Yangcheng slowly recovered. More and more patients saw hope for survival.
Overjoyed, she ran to the tree where they had first met, looking up at him with radiant eyes. "Everyone’s getting better! Thank you for helping them!"
Perched on a branch, lazily carving a piece of wood, he replied without interest, "Their crying annoyed me. I never intended to help."
Her eyes sparkled. "By the way, I still don’t know your name."
The boy lowered his gaze, fingers absently tracing the copper bells at his waist, as if debating whether to answer. Then, softly, he said, "Chi Yan."
His voice was light, yet it stirred ripples in her heart she had never felt before.
"Chi Yan..." she repeated quietly, the name oddly familiar, though she couldn’t place it. Smiling, she added, "It’s a beautiful name."
Chi Yan merely hummed in response, the tips of his ears tinged with a faint, barely noticeable blush under the dim lantern light.
From that day on, something between them quietly changed.
"And then what?" Chu'he sat on the ground, eager for more.
The girl in yellow beside her rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the golden ginkgo tree with a nostalgic smile. "When this tree turned gold, I told him I liked him... and asked if he felt the same."
Chu'he gasped. "What did he say?"
"He ran away." The girl pressed her lips together. Even now, the memory stung. "As a girl, it took all my courage to confess, and what does he do? Flees like a coward!"
Chu'he huffed indignantly. "What a spineless fool!"
"Exactly! A spineless fool!"
Yet that very night, the so-called fool crept back. He knocked on her window, and when she opened it, his face was flushed—his usually pale skin now alive with color.
His dark eyes shimmered with nervousness, and his reddened ears looked as if they’d been brushed by the hues of twilight wine.
"When should we get married?"
She froze in place.
"Proposing marriage before even courting? How absurd!"
"Right? How absurd!"
Chu'he shook her head, more worked up than the storyteller. "Forget the formalities of matchmakers and betrothal gifts—there should at least be a proper courtship! Exchanging tokens, meeting the parents, then holding a wedding banquet. How could he be so reckless?"
"Right? How could he be so reckless?" The girl sighed, resting her chin on her hands. "When you marry, you mustn’t be so careless."
Chu'he’s noisy chatter faltered, her expression suddenly awkward.
It dawned on her—her own wedding with Ninth back in Wutong Village had been just as haphazard.
